Irene's POV

The doctor's words felt like a shab of a sharp knife into my chest, each syllable a lead weight settling on my chest. "Irene, I am truly sorry, but the chances of you conceiving remain the same." His gaze was gentle, laced with a professional sympathy that offered no real comfort. "There is still a very slim possibility, and of course, we can continue to try, but I must be frank, a pregnancy is not guaranteed."

A weak "Thank you, Doctor," escaped my lips, the weight intensifying, pressing down on my lungs, making it hard to breathe. He shifted in his seat, a new suggestion in his voice. "Perhaps we could focus our efforts on addressing the scarring?"

Exhaustion, a familiar companion these past months, washed over me. "And the chances of... regaining my previous face?" I asked, the words barely a whisper. The silence that followed was more telling than any negative prognosis. It stretched, thick and heavy, filling the small office.

I stood abruptly, the scrape of the chair against the linoleum echoing the harsh reality within me. "Thank you for your time, Doctor." I couldn't bear to hear any more.

The fluorescent lights of the hallway seemed to mock me as I walked out, each step feeling heavier than the last. How had my life become this… meaningless? Not only was my face a roadmap of that horrific night, and a constant reminder of my vulnerability, but the possibility of carrying Ryan's child, a hope I had clung to with desperate ferocity, was fading into nothingness.

A year. It had been a year since the rogues' attack shattered my world. A year since the searing pain, the terror, the violation that had left me both physically and emotionally scarred. Being the daughter of the Moonshadow Alpha hadn't shielded me from tragedy.

Losing my mother had been the first blow, and then being thrust into a political marriage with the Alpha of the SilverMoon Pack had felt like another. My initial reaction had been pure rebellion, a desperate flight fueled by fear and anger.

But then I met Ryan. The Alpha of the SilverMoon Pack. He was nothing like I had imagined. Kind, patient, understanding. Even after the attack, even after my body betrayed me, leaving me disfigured and barren, he had stayed. He had held my shattered pieces together with a love that both sustained and tormented me. His unwavering devotion only amplified my guilt, my sense of inadequacy. I felt like a broken thing, undeserving of his gentle touch, his steadfast presence.

Finally, I reached our packhouse. I walked straight to Ryan's office, a space I rarely entered. I had expected to find him there, immersed in pack business, his brow furrowed in concentration. But the room was empty.

A strange curiosity mingled with the familiar ache in my chest. I had never really explored his private sanctuary before. It was a reflection of him, I realized. Organized, efficient, yet with small personal touches and a worn leather-bound book on the corner of his desk, a framed picture of the SilverMoon territory bathed in the soft glow of dawn.

As I turned, admiring a carved wooden wolf on a shelf, my elbow knocked something off his desk. A small, rectangular object tumbled to the floor. I bent to retrieve it, my fingers closing around a smooth, cool surface.

A photograph.

My breath hitched. A woman stared back at me, her eyes a startling shade of amber. Her smile was radiant, genuine, illuminating her beautiful features. She was breathtaking. And then I saw him. Standing beside her, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Ryan. My husband. His own smile mirrored hers, a carefree expression I hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity.

A cold dread seeped into my bones, a chilling premonition that squeezed the air from my lungs. Who was this woman? And why did Ryan look so… happy with her?

A bitter understanding washed over me. Ryan was an only child, and his extended family was a scattering of distant relatives. There were no aunts, uncles, or cousins who might have a child with those startling amber eyes.

Dragging my feet, I retreated to our bedroom. The reflection staring back from the mirror was a stranger. The jagged scar that bisected my face was also a brutal reminder of the life I had lost, the beauty that had been stolen. A cold certainty settled within me. Who could truly love this? This marred visage, this broken body?

Ryan's loving gazes, his tender words, were they all just a carefully constructed lie? Was it pity that shone in his eyes, not love?

The realization was a fresh wound, deeper and more agonizing than any physical pain. I had believed him. I had clung to his reassurances like a lifeline. The lack of intimacy after the attack, the sweet words that never quite bridged the growing distance between us, it all clicked into place with cruel clarity.

I tried to mask the raw pain in my eyes, forcing a semblance of composure before heading downstairs. Just as I reached the bottom step, the front door swung inward, and Ryan walked in. His smile was radiant, the kind that used to make my heart flutter. But now, knowing the truth, I saw through the facade. The brightness seemed artificial, the warmth nonexistent. All I could perceive was a practiced charm, a mask of pity and manipulation.

"My love," he greeted me, using the endearment that now sounded like a cruel mockery.

Then I saw him. Peeking from behind Ryan's leg was a child. A little boy. And his eyes… they were the same striking amber as the woman in the photograph. A jolt of recognition shot through me. The shape of his face, the set of his jaw and the resemblance to Ryan was undeniable.

Ryan’s smile faltered as he noticed my gaze. He chuckled nervously. "Irene, this is… this is a little boy I found. He's an orphan."

An orphan? The word echoed in my mind, laced with disbelief. Those eyes. I had seen them before. The woman in the picture. The woman Ryan had held so close. My breath caught in my throat, a strangled gasp escaping my lips. My eyes widened in horrified understanding. Not only had Ryan betrayed me, but he had also fathered a child with his lover. The weight on my chest became unbearable, crushing the last vestiges of hope within me.

The amber eyes. Where had I seen them before? Then it struck me with the force of a physical blow. The Silver Creek Pack gathering, months ago. The Luna. This woman, this radiant beauty holding Ryan's gaze in the photograph, was the Luna of the Silver Creek Pack.

"I just took pity on the boy, Irene," Ryan was saying, his voice laced with what he probably thought was compassion.

My fists clenched at my sides, the shock threatening to overwhelm me. I swallowed hard, forcing a semblance of normalcy. "Pity? What do you mean, Ryan? Why did you bring him here?" I needed to hear the lies spill from his own lips.

"I thought… I thought we could adopt him," he stammered, his eyes moving nervously between me and the child hiding behind him. "I thought it might… ease your PTSD. Give us something positive to focus on."

I widened my eyes in feigned surprise, taking slow steps towards them. The little boy instinctively retreated further behind Ryan. I knelt down, pretending to examine him closely. "It's… it's quite remarkable," I said, my voice deceptively soft. "He looks so much like you, Ryan. It's almost like fate." I paused, letting him process the words.

"Though," I added, my gaze sweeping over the child's features, "there isn't a single thing about him that resembles me."

A hint of panic crossed Ryan's face, but gone so quickly I almost doubted I saw it. "What do you mean, my love?" he asked, his voice a little too loud, a little too strained. And a bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. Seeing him for who he truly was stripped away the illusion I had so desperately clung to. How could I have been so blind? So foolish?

I stood and walked towards him, placing a hand flat against his chest, right over his beating heart or perhaps where his heart should have been. "Of course, we'll adopt him, Ryan," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. Inwardly, the pieces clicked into place and understood that he needed an heir. And this was his solution.

Relief washed over his features, his smile returning, though it no longer held any power over me. "Oh, Irene, my wonderful Luna! Thank you! I knew you would understand. I'll defend you to the pack, I swear. We won't have to worry about the succession anymore."

The fake affection in his eyes made my stomach churn. I wanted to retch at the sound of his words. "You will always be my most beloved Luna," he added, reaching for my hand.

I nodded, offering a small, sweet smile, a final farewell. "You don't need to do that, Ryan," I said softly.

"But it's my responsibility," he insisted, his grip tightening on my hand. "And I love you so much, Irene."

I couldn't hold it in anymore and a dark chuckle rumbled in my chest. "You really don't have to, Ryan," I repeated, my voice now laced with a cold finality. "Because I reject you as my Alpha.”